


Two Hearts as One

by Gryphoness



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: ADHD Arya, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Daemons, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Asperger Syndrome, Asperger's Tommen, Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder, Brother-Sister Relationships, Canon disabled characters, Discussion of Children, Epilepsy, F/M, Interfaith Relationship, Newlywed Fluff, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rare Pairings, Sensory Overload, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-16
Updated: 2017-10-17
Packaged: 2018-05-02 00:44:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 8,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5227358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gryphoness/pseuds/Gryphoness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of short Tommen/Arya ficlets because there needs to be more of this adorable pairing on the internet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First Impressions

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, after a long absence from this site, it's me again! Sorry to those who were hoping for more Diavora from me, but I'm still working on that. Instead, this is going to be a collection of short Tomya ficlets because I roleplay Tommen on Tumblr and the relationship my main Arya and I have built between them is adorable and there should be more of it on here.  
> All these ficlets take place in alternate universes to each other unless otherwise stated. Be kind, please.

Tommen wasn't exactly sure what to do. He was fairly certain that meeting Arya's parents hadn't been as scary as this. Hells, even meeting her very intimidating older brothers hadn't been this nerve-wracking. But _this_ \- This could be make-or-break.

"Don't be such a baby," Arya muttered from behind him, "Just say hello."

"I don't think she likes me, Ar." He protested, not taking his eyes off her _(very large, very capable of biting him)_ dog. He had never been much of a dog person, and he'd heard somewhere that dogs could smell emotions. 

"Oh, don't be dumb," She brushed his concern off briskly, "She probably just smells your cat on you. I'm gonna go get a snack. You and Nym make friends while I'm gone."

"Nice doggy," She heard Tommen murmur nervously as she left, "Nice, non-bitey doggy."

As she headed back upstairs, she Arya heard a yelp from her room and started running. Her mind raced with all the possible sights she could find - Tommen with a chunk taken out of his leg, or his face mauled, or... **Or, or, or.**

She burst into her room in a panic, to find her boyfriend utterly bewildered and pinned down by a lap full of canine. 

"Arya, help me! I'm stuck!"

* * *

 

Well, it was official. Ser Pounce was, along with Myrcella, one of the only two Baratheons to like her (Three if you counted Tommen).

The kitty had been following her around since the moment she stepped foot in the house, like a duckling waddling after its mother. 

"He likes you!" Tommen had said delightedly when he noticed, and he seemed so genuinely happy that Arya didn't have the heart to tell him that she really didn't like cats. 

After all, she hadn't really liked Tommen all that much when they met, and if she could get used to - and even develop feelings for- someone so very different from her,  then she could definitely get used to a cute cat loved by her adorable boyfriend. 


	2. Not The Type

How had he ended up here? He didn't belong in a place like this. He should be at home right now, finishing his homework like a good boy. _My good boy,_ Mom had called him once, when he'd done something that pleased her, _My well-behaved little boy._ He guessed that he had been about seven then, and praise from his mother had already been so rare that he had promised himself he'd always be good, so Mom would always be proud of him.

He had always been a model student, a model citizen, a model son (and yet Mom still loved Joff more, Joff who ran wild and got blackout drunk and smacked his siblings around). Seven Hells, he was president of the student council! He had no business in this old warehouse, full of smoke and flashing lights. Pate had dragged him here with promises of fun and adventure, but then abandoned him in this shady corner. Now Pate was off dancing somewhere, the thrumming beat of the cover band pounding into his head.

"Lannister!"

His head whipped around at the sound of his mother's maiden name, and he almost thought he was imagining things -

Arya Stark was walking towards him.

Easily a foot shorter than him, with brown hair cut short and choppy, - She'd cut it herself, he heard - she still somehow managed to make an intimidating expression.

"My last name is Baratheon, actually," He corrected when she reached him, "Lannister was my mom's name before she got married."

Arya shrugged, clearly not caring what he called himself. "You look like a Lannister," She replied breezily, "So, what are you doing here, Sunshine?"

"I have a name, you know," He said mildly, amused.

"I like Sunshine better. Gonna answer my question now?"

"My...My friend dragged me here and ditched me."

"I figured," Arya snorted, "You aren't the type to come here on your own."

He felt his eyebrows rise. "And how do you know what _type_ I am?"

She laughed, a low, mocking sound that made his heart speed up despite himself. "Oh, please. I know exactly what you are. I've seen guys like you before. Mommy's precious little baby, still sucking on the tit."

His mother's face flashed through his mind, brushing off his complaints when he told her how Joffrey tormented him.

"Don't talk about my mom, Stark." He requested softly, standing up.

"Why? Did I hit a nerve there? Yank your cord? Just run home and tell your mommy how the little girl at the club was a bi-"

He didn't know what came over him. But he'd had a crush on Arya Stark since fourth grade. And he really, really wanted her to shut up. So he did something very stupid - He kissed her.

As soon as he could think through the rush of adrenaline, he hated himself. He wasn't the kind of guy to kiss a girl without her consent. That was a move his brother would pull, not him. He pulled back hastily, horrified apologies already forming on his lips.

But before he could get even a syllable out, Arya grabbed him by the hair and yanked his face back down to hers.

She tasted like cigarettes and mint.

The second time, it was Arya who pulled away first. Her gray eyes were shining, and her cheeks were flushed. The sight made him smile even though he knew it probably made him look stupid. "I don't know where you found the balls to do that," She said breathlessly, "But it damn well took you long enough."

He felt his eyes go wide. "You... You _wanted_ me to kiss you?"

"If I hadn't, you wouldn't have any teeth, Sunshine."


	3. Of Windows and Gray Eyes

"Good morning, Sunshine!"

Tommen rolled over with a groan, pulling the pillow over his head. "Wha-Huah-What?"

Peeking out from under the blanket, he watched as Arya flipped his light switch, and yelped when the light hit his eyes.

"What are you even doing here? You don't have a key."

He felt the mattress dip as she sat on his bed, and made a soft _oof_ as she flopped onto him.

"You know, Sunshine, if you don't want people coming in, you oughtta lock your window."

Slowly, he poked his head out from under the blanket. "You climbed in my window?"

"Mmm-hmm," Arya nodded, shooting him a quick grin.

"Um..." He began after a moment of thought, _"Why,_ exactly did you climb in my window?"

"Well, you said the other day that your family isn't gonna be here today," She replied blithely, "So I decided to come keep you company."

Tommen couldn't help but smile, touched by the silly, sentimental thought. Most of the time, she tried to put off this cool, untouchable, _gives-no-fucks_ attitude, but he sometimes thought he was one of the only people who knew how sweet she truly was. "Hmm," He pretended to consider that, tilting his head to the side, "A whole day all alone with my beautiful girlfriend. Yeah, I guess I can roll with that."

Arya laughed and pressed a kiss to his cheek. "Don't be dumb, Tom. Sansa's the beautiful one, not me."

"Oh no," He countered playfully, catching her face in his hands before he could pull away, "Don't you say that. You are _so_ beautiful, even if you don't believe me."

She wouldn't meet his eyes, glancing everywhere around the room but at him. "You're my boyfriend, you have to say that," She mumbled.

"No I don't," Tommen chuckled, "But I do, because you are. I think you're beautiful, Arya. Like your eyes," At that, she finally glanced towards him, and he beamed. "See, there they are. I love your eyes, you know."

"They look like slush," Arya sighed.

"Really? I don't see it. I think they look like the sky, right before it storms and right after. Cool and calm and kind of dangerous."

She cracked a small smile when he said that, and he took the opportunity to steal a quick kiss.

"You're a sap, you know,"

"I know," He chirped brightly, with a cheeky grin. "But I'm _your_ sap."

Arya rolled off of him with a giggle, landing steady-footed on his floor with all the grace her fencing master could teach her. "Alright Sunshine, what's the first thing you wanna do today?"

Biting his lip, Tommen thought for a bit. "Come back here and let's watch _The Aristocats."_


	4. Lobster

"Arry," Tommen whined, and she turned around on the bed at the pitiful sound. Then she had to bite her lip to keep from laughing,

"It's not funny!" He protested, emerald eyes gone wide. "Don't laugh at me."

Standing in the doorway connecting the bathroom and the bedroom, steam pouring out from behind him, he had nothing on but a towel wrapped around his waist. At at the moment, it was the whitest thing about him.

"You look like a lobster!" She burst out finally, wrapping her arms around her middle, "I _tried_ to warn you, Sunshine," She reminded him, "You're the one who said you didn't need sunscreen."

"The water felt like tiny needles," He mumbled, sitting slowly down on the bed.

Arya kissed his temple with a sound of mock-sympathy. "Oh, you poor baby," 

"Not funny, Arry."

She chuckled. "Just say it, Sunshine. You'll feel better if you let yourself admit it."

Hanging his head, Tommen sighed. "...I'm sunburned."


	5. Househusband

He was in the kitchen when he heard the door slam open, and didn't pay it any mind. Still focused on his task, he bit his lip in concentration as he stirred the batter.

And then he felt a pair of skinny arms wrap around him.

"Hello there," He said with a smile, "What are you up to?"

Arya laughed, releasing him and easily hopping onto the counter. "Nothing much. What are you doing?"

Tommen smiled, still looking at the bowl. "I'm baking. i have nothing else to do right now,"

"Baking?" She let out a giggle, "Wow. What a sweet little househusband you'll make some girl one day."

He rolled his eyes playfully. "Oh, shut up. You think you're so clever."

"Ah-ah-ah, nope. I don't _think_ I'm clever, I _know_ I am."  She wagged a finger at him, and he pretended to bite it in retaliation.

"At least I don't have to sit on the counter to feel tall."

Arya faked an offended gasp, pressing a hand over her heart. "Tommen! That was low."

"Well," He shot her a cheeky grin, "You'd know all about low."

"Shut up, asshole," Leaning over, she kissed him quickly, and Tommen took the opportunity to scoop her into his arms bridal-style and spin her around. "Tom!" She yelped, clinging to him, "Tom, quit it!"

He laughed and kissed her again. "But I thought I was an asshole, Ar. Assholes do this shit."

"Put me down or I'll put batter in your hair."


	6. All I Want For Sevenmas Is You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry late Christmas to those who celebrate, and happy new year! Here is some belated Tomya Sevenmas fluff/mischief.

He looked at his phone, blinked rapidly, then quickly left the room. She watched him, smiling. Around her, the party seemed a whirl of color and sound. How the arrangers of this gala had managed to convince both her father and his to attend, knowing their political rival would be there, Arya had no clue. But she was glad they did, though no one but him knew the true reason why. 

After waiting a few moments for discretion's sake, she slipped through the door and into the darkened hallway. Pulling the pins out of the elaborate hairdo her mother had arranged so carefully, she shook her head as tendrils of brown hair fell gracelessly to her shoulders. 

"Need help with that?" A low voice hummed in her ear, and she smiled as she turned. Her hands found his chest on instinct, and from there, they slid up to allow her arms to loop around his neck.

"I think I've got it handled, but thanks." Despite the dim light, she saw a flash of white and knew he was smiling. He was always smiling, it seemed. Nothing ever appeared to phase him. Even the revelation that the girl he'd exchanged numbers with, the girl he'd been flirting with for weeks, was the daughter of his father's opponent in the upcoming election. _We'll make it work,_ he'd told her, and somehow they had. 

It was nowhere near easy, and it took its toll on both of them, but it was moments like these - breathless moments in dark corners, their fathers pretending to be civil in the next room - that they lived for.

"Merry Sevenmas, darlin'," He whispered, good southron boy he was, as his slim arms encircled her waist. As they moved backwards, she felt her back meet the wall and grinned. 

"My gods are the old gods," She whispered back, a smile curving her lips, "Your Seven don't mean anything to me."

She felt him chuckle, the vibration moving through her. "Happy holidays, then. Does that mean you don't want your present?"

"Of course I want my present, you asshole," She laughed, "Don't be such a tool," At that, she felt his hand move up to cup her cheek, and then their lips were meeting, hungry and yearning. He kissed her until she was breathless and wild-eyed, and when he pulled away and kissed her cheek, she could feel his grin.

"Was that my present?" She whispered, feeling heat bloom in her cheeks at the rapid flutter of her heart.

His eyes glittered like emeralds in the faint light, and she bit her lip despite herself.

"Oh no, we haven't even gotten to that bit yet."


	7. Puppy Eyes

Arya glanced up from her phone - a fencing match on YouTube - at the soft scrape of the door opening. "That you, Tom?" She called, pulling one earphone out.

"No," His familiar voice replied from the hall, "It's Baelor the Blessed. Do you have time to talk about our lord and savior, the Seven-Who-Are-One?"

"Piss on your Seven," She shot back playfully as her boyfriend wandered into the tiny living room of their apartment. With a soft groan, he flopped onto the couch, down by her feet. Making a hum of sympathy, Arya leaned over and combed her hand gently through his curls. "Rough shift, Coffee Boy?"

 His only response was a wordless mumble, and she bit her lip to resist a smile. "You poor thing," She murmured, "Were all the hipsters too much to handle?" Tommen didn't answer, just continued laying perfectly still. Sighing, Arya wriggled down the couch until she could put her arms around him. 

"Come on, Sunshine. I'll take care of you."

* * *

When Arya peeked into their bedroom, she found Tommen huddled comfortably on the bed with his eyes trained on the animated cats brightening the tv screen. 

"You doing alright now?"

Tommen nodded, not taking his eyes away from the movie. "Join me?"

Arya bit the inside of her cheek, glancing back at the kitchen, where her homework waited to be finished. She really needed to get a certain assignment done, it was _almost_ finished... Against her better judgement, she returned her gaze to her boyfriend. It was just as she'd feared. He was playing his ace - Unleashing the puppy eyes. As contrary as Arya Stark was known to be, she couldn't deny Tommen anything when he looked at her with those big green eyes.

It was like looking at a baby and trying to not tell it how adorable it was. Or trying not to hug a puppy. It was hard to withstand the pull of the cuteness. 

"Stupid boyfriend with your stupid pretty face," She muttered, flopping onto the bed beside him.

 


	8. Tommen vs the Menarche

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where Arya becomes a "woman," Tommen is clueless, and a castle is scandalized.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, squad, this is where the canon divergence au tag comes in! This ficlet is set in an au that one of my writing partners and I came up with on tumblr. Essentially, the main divergence point is that instead of Joffrey and Sansa being betrothed, Tommen and Arya were instead. This leads to a chain of events that includes Ned being sent home in disgrace rather than being killed, and Arya being held as a "guest" of the king, to ensure the North's loyalty.

Tommen woke to the sensation of being shaken, and rolled over with a groan to see who had woken him.

"Tomm," Next to his bed, his betrothed stood barefoot, with a robe clutched over her nightgown, "Tomm, get up, I need your help." In the faint candlelight of his bedchamber, she looked so pale and helpless - despite his knowledge of how well she could protect herself - that he couldn't have brought himself to say no, even had he wanted to. Obediently, he threw his covers off and hopped out of bed. Grabbing a candle, he turned to face her.

Despite the two years between them, they were of a height, and his eyes sought hers with an instinct born of years' familiarity. "What's wrong, Arya? Are you okay?"

"I can't explain," She answered in a rushed whisper, "Just come on. Please."

Hand-in-hand, the two of them scurried down the dark corridors until they reached the Maidenvault, where Arya's chambers were. A few times along the way, he tried to ask again what the problem was, but Arya glared at him so fiercely when he tried that he eventually gave up.

 Slipping through her chamber door behind her, Tommen held the flickering candle up. It cast the room in a sickly, eerie light as she tugged him towards her bed. He opened his mouth to ask a question, but held his tongue when she pointed. Eyes following her finger obediently, he turned and muffled a noise of surprise at what he saw.

There was a dark stain on the bedding. Looking closer, Tommen bit his lip when he realized what the substance was.

"Are you bleeding?"

Turning back towards Arya, he squeaked in horror - She had let the robe she wore fall open, and her nightgown was also smeared with blood.

"Are you hurt?" Tommen demanded, sitting his candle on the nightstand, "Why are you bleeding?"

"Shh, shh," She hissed, clamping a hand over his mouth, "Be quiet. No, I'm not hurt. It...It's moonblood. Your-Your mother told me about it. It's just...Something do to with having babies, I didn't really understand. I just need help to fix it."

Plucking her hand off his mouth, he frowned. "Alright. Well, you can't sleep in that." Walking over to the wardrobe in the corner, he found another nightgown and handed it to her. "Here. Get changed, I'll bet you'll feel better." He waited a moment, but Arya only scowled at him. "What?"

She swatted him on the shoulder. "Turn around, you ass!"

He felt a flush rise in his cheeks and couldn't meet her eyes. _"Oh!_ Oh, right. I-I'm sorry." Turning quickly, he busied himself by searching for a clean sheet. Finding none in clear view, he settled for covering the soiled bed with a spare blanket. That ought to be more comfortable than sleeping on a wet sheet. Crisis averted, he made his way towards the door.

"Tomm?"

He froze, startled by how vulnerable she sounded. "Yes?" He asked hesitantly, turning.

Looking very small in the bed, Arya held out a hand, and Tommen couldn't help but move towards her. "Stay?"

"I'll stay," Sliding in beside her, he tried to mask his surprise as she wound her arms around his neck and laid her head on his chest.

(The next morning, the castle was in a whirl over the disappearance of the young prince from his rooms. Queen Cersei's screech when he was found in his betrothed's bed was enough to wake even the deepest sleepers.


	9. Euphoria

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this ficlet is set in the same au as "Tommen vs the Menarche." If you've read that, you should be okay following this one. Some additional info about this verse: Joffrey remains unmarried longer, and "forces" Tommen and Arya to marry when they are 17 and 19. Half a year later, the Purple Wedding occurs.
> 
> Also, a bit of a warning: The events of this chapter take place just after a wedding and as such, there are some references to, AHEM, married activities.

They didn't leave their chambers for two days after the wedding.

People were irked, of, course, at their missing so-called important functions like the gift-giving ceremony the morning after they were married. But the two of them were too wrapped up in each other to care. They spent 48 hours in a blissful, glowing little world where nothing existed but the two of them. They had known each other's hearts for a decade, and now they were enjoying the experience of learning each other's bodies. 

"We're going to be happy together for the rest of our lives," Tommen whispered the morning after their wedding, lanky frame curled around her like the wedding cloak he had draped over her shoulders. 

"Yes," Arya replied, snuggling into his embrace, "Joff can't do anything to part us now. We can be happy."

"Just think," Tommen murmured, his breath warm against her head, "Once Joff gets a babe on his pretty Tyrell girl, they won't need me here anymore and we'll be shipped off to Casterly Rock."

Arya had heard it whispered for years, how Tommen was about as useless as a person of royal blood could be. He was the second-born son, the backup prince. His only role was as a spare, should anything have happened to Joffrey. As soon as Joffrey produced an heir, Tommen's purpose in the line of succession would be defunct. He was just a boy, they said, worth nothing but his royal name. But his cheeks dimpled when he smiled at her, and he was _everything_ to Arya. 

"Far away from this vipers' nest," She added, smiling as his heartbeat made a comforting rythm against her ear.

She could feel his smile as he kissed the top of her head. "Just the two of us."

"Well," She hummed playfully, "Not _just_ the two of us," Tommen made a soft, curious sound, and Arya turned her head to leave a feather-light kiss on his chest. "We'll have children too."

 He laughed, and she couldn't help but smile. "You think that's funny?"

"I think that's nice to think about," Tommen answered, "And I laugh when I hear nice things."

They spent the better part of a few hours like that, whispering about their future, and the family they would start. Weaving shimmering, fanciful dreams out of sentences, an idyllic world they were convinced they could make reality. 

 

* * *

 Their bubble of newlywed bliss shattered on the morning of their third day of marriage. The cause of said shattering was one Cersei Lannister flinging the door open and flouncing into their chambers as though she had every right to barge in uninvited.

"Mother!" Tommen yelped, yanking the sheet up to protect what modesty they could salvage. Arya gasped, ducking against his side and hiding her head under the sheet. 

"Oh, please," Cersei, "I'm your mother, nothing in this room could phase me. Now, you two have wasted quite enough time shut up in here."

"I wouldn't exactly call it _wasted,"_ Tommen murmured, smiling when Arya snickered. Cersei rolled her eyes, and Tommen bit his lip to keep from laughing in her face. 

"In any case, it's time for the both of you to start acting like adults and rejoin society."

"Alright, alright," Tommen replied, voice flippant as only a teenage boy speaking to his mother could be, "We'll be right there, give us five minutes."

With a huff, the queen mother left them alone, and Arya made a muffled noise of surprise when Tommen kissed her, hands roaming lazily under the covers. 

"Tomm! You told your mother we'd be getting ready."

She caught a glimpse of mischievous emerald eyes just before his lips found the pulsepoint in her throat. "Not for five more minutes."


	10. I Might Be Awake

_**"I like coffee because it gives me the illusion that I might be awake." - Lewis Black** _

 

* * *

 

Tommen glanced up as the tinny little bell over the door rang, just in time to see a dark-haired girl approaching the counter. "Hi," He greeted brightly, stuffing the rag he'd been wiping the counter with into his pocket, "Welcome to Two Crowns. What can I get for you today?" He hated talking, hated interacting with people he didn't know, but he needed the money, and this was the closest employment opportunity to the apartment he and Myrcella shared. At least there was a script so he didn't have to really converse on the spot. Thank the Mother for small mercies.

The girl he had addressed met his eyes, and Tommen had to fight back a shiver. He didn't know why, but something about her caught his attention. Her eyes were gray, but not a dull kind of gray. More like the sky right before or after a storm: Cool, and heavy, and slightly threatening. She looked at him for a long moment - A cup and a Sharpie were poised in his hands - before giving her order.

"A ginger tea," she answered finally. Tommen jotted it down on her cup, then paused.

"Y-You," he cleared his throat, feeling a blush creep up his neck at the stutter, "You didn't give me your name, Ma'am."

The girl looked at him again, and it felt like she was seeing him, _really seeing him_ , as if those stormy eyes could stare right into him like an x-ray. He bit his lip.

"Mercy."

Nodding, he turned away as he scribbled the name onto her cup.

 

* * *

 

She came back the next day, a hoodie pulled over her choppy hair and earbuds in her ears. She marched up to the counter and gave her order before he could even recite his greeting, but still didn't give a name until prompted.

"Mercy, right?" His Sharpie was already pressed to the cup when she shook her head.

"Cat," she corrected, shooting him an ironic little smirk, and Tommen returned it. He knew she was lying, she knew he knew, he knew she knew he knew. It was like a game. Back and forth, like tetherball. Tommen had loved tetherball, until his brother had given him a black eye with a well-aimed swing. On _accident_ , of course.

"Cat," he repeated, amused, jotting the name down quickly before passing it along, "I like cats."

She came back the day after that, and the day after that too, until she became a regular, even beginning to hang out at Two Crowns instead of leaving when she got her drink. She would trade jokes with Pate and tease Robin, and she liked to make Tommen himself blush. She always ordered a ginger tea, always came in at the same time of day, during his shift. Always gave a new name each day.

_Beth. Nan. Salty. Nymeria. Squab. Weasel. Arry._

He couldn't guess which of the plausible names could be her real one, but he had a hunch that she hadn't told him yet. Despite not knowing her name, he learned other things about her. She had once won a fencing championship. She had a Northern Inuit that she loved. She listened to pop and rock, and she could never hold still for longer than a few minutes. She adored her family, and was willing to fight anybody.

Tommen was fascinated by her.

She called him Sunshine and laughed when he tried to correct her. (He eventually gave up. Of all the names he's ever been called, Sunshine wasn't so bad.)

 

* * *

 

 

Myrcella knew about her, of course. They lived together, and told each other everything. One night, she came home bouncing with excitement. "I know who your mystery girl is," she squealed, "She's Bran's sister, can you believe it?"

"My friend from Two Crowns is your boyfriend's sister?"

Myrcella laughed, rolling her eyes fondly. _"Friend_ , he says. Little brother, you make me wanna puke,"

Tommen scoffed, chucking a throw-pillow off their couch (Gifts from their mother - The throw-pillows, not the couch) at her, and that started a pillow-fight that effectively ended the conversation.

Afterwards, however, he demanded that she tell him everything she knew.

"Her name is Arya," Myrcella informed him, "Bran invited me to her big fencing match tomorrow." 

Tommen smiled. 

 

* * *

 

 

"Good morning, Arya!" he chirped when she strode through the door the next morning. She froze in her tracks, looking at him like he was the Ghost of Sevenmas Past instead of a barista. 

"How did you..."

"Turns out I have connections." Grinning, he passed an already-prepared cup of ginger tea across the counter. 

Only when she was leaving the shop did Arya think to look at her cup.

_Good Luck!! :)_


	11. Catch Me, I'm Falling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Myrcella is hurt, Tommen falls apart, and Arya just tries to keep the pieces together.

It's a well-known fact that looking at your phone right after waking up is like staring into the sun. But the insistent ringing had woken her, and the sight of her boyfriend's name on the caller I.D. sent a fizzle of worry up her spine. "Tomm? It's late."

All she heard from the other end was a sob. Oh gods, why was he crying? Tommen was an eternal optimist, a real glass-half-full guy, even when the glass was cracked. For Tommen to cry, something had to be wrong. _Capital W Wrong._

"Tommen," She said, more urgently now, "Babe, what happened? Talk to me."

"'Cella," He choked out, and Arya's blood went cold. Myrcella was one of the sweetest people she knew, she couldn't imagine anything bad happening to her. And Tommen - Tommen loved his sister, of course. She was his best friend, his platonic other half. If anything were to happen to her, Arya didn't know how he would take it. "She-She was out with Trystane's cousin, a-and something happened. I don't know what exactly, they won't tell me."

"Where are you?" She replied, already hopping out of bed and grabbing her shoes. Stepping carefully over Nymeria's huddled shape on the floor, she eased her bedroom door quietly open.

"The hospital downtown," His voice broke, "She's in surgery right now. Something hit her in the face, and..."

"Don't worry," Arya told him, even though she knew he couldn't not worry, "I'll be right there, okay? I love you." Shoving her phone into the pocket of her jacket, she grabbed the key ring for one of the cars - Which car she didn't know or care. Just as her hand touched the doorknob, she heard a step behind her. 

"Arya?"

She whirled around, and in the doorway to the living room was her father. He was barefoot, in his pajamas, and Arya instantly felt guilty for waking him. "I have to go, Dad," She blurted pleadingly.

"What's so important that you need to be out driving at this hour?"

"It's Myrcella, Dad, she's in the hospital. She's hurt somehow, and Tommen called me. He's at the hospital and they won't tell him anything, and-and he _needs_ me."

"Slow down," Her dad replied, "Take a deep breath. Wait right here and I'll get my shoes."

Arya blinked twice before his words sunk in. "What?"

"My teenage daughter isn't going to be driving at the time of night, and not upset. Keys?"

Mute with gratitude, she tossed them to him.  

 

* * *

 

She walked into the hospital, her father at her heels, to find what seemed to be the entire Lannister-Baratheon clan in the lobby.  For an agonizingly long moment,  she just stared at them and they stared back. Arya felt a strong sense of not belonging, like she was an intruder into something private.

"Arya," Tommen broke the spell, pulling out of his mother's embrace and making his way towards her. The big green eyes she loved were red and swollen from tears, and the sight made a lump rise in her throat. She met him halfway, wrapping her arms around him as he curled over her. 

"Tomm," She whispered, guiding him to a pair of empty chairs and coaxing him to sit, "I'm so sorry, my Tomm."

His head rested against the crook of her neck and his soft weeping made her heart ache. When Bran was in the crash that left him paralyzed, Tommen had been there for her. Now, Arya supposed, she was returning the favor. But it pained her that there was nothing she could do. There was no way to make this easier for him. All she could do was let him fall and be there to catch him. 

 

* * *

 

They waited. With Myrcella still in the O.R., and Arianne Martell still giving deposition at the police station, it seemed like waiting was all they could do. After a while, her father headed home, once Arya promised she would call if she needed anything. She and Tommen sat slightly apart from his family, heads close together. Once he was all cried out, he grew quiet and distant - Like he was trying to block out reality.

After a couple hours of watching Cersei pace and snap at nurses, he fell asleep. Arya let him lean on her, fingers combing gently through his curls. She was tired as well, obviously, but she was more than happy to let Tomm sleep. He needed it more. She did find herself dozing for a bit until she was woken by someone sitting down on her other side. 

At first, brain muddled with sleep, she almost thought it was Tommen. But, no, his head was still on her shoulder, his body still warm against her side. Sitting on her other side, looking about as uncomfortable in the hard plastic chair as Nymeria at the vet, was Jaime Lannister. In his hands, Tommen's uncle held two styrofoam cups of cheap hospital coffee. Wordlessly, he handed one to her, and she accepted it with a wary glance. Jaime had been driving the car that hit Bran, years ago, and though she tried not to blame him, Arya still found herself disliking him on principle. 

Looking at him, it felt almost like looking into the future, looking at a Tommen a few decades older. Except for the eyes. Jaime's eyes were paler than Tommen's, and somehow more distant. Colder.  They lacked the innocence, the wide-eyed idealism that Tommen's eyes held. 

Arya disliked the thought of Tommen losing that gentleness that defined him.

She was absurdly grateful when Tommen stirred beside her, allowing her to turn her attention to him and avoid paying much attention to his uncle. 

 

* * *

 

 

"I've got you, it's okay,"

Arya watched as Tommen helped his sister out of the car and led her into the house, shadowed by their mother. She had wanted to be there, for Tommen, but now she felt like an observer, watching a family moment. At the door, Tommen passed Myrcella's hand to Cersei and darted back down the driveway to where she stood on the sidewalk.

"Thank you for being there for me," he said bashfully, resting his forehead against hers, "I love you."

Arya just smiled, brushing a finger through his curls. "I love you too, Sunshine."


	12. Cookie Dough

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A friendly reminder that I own none of the characters you see here. They all belong to George R.R. Martin, and I am merely borrowing them.

"Arya, _no."_

Her bottom lip jutted out petulantly, her face becoming a study of a wounded heart. Tommen rolled his eyes fondly. 

"Darlin', you can't use puppy eyes on me. I _invented_ puppy eyes."

Arya made a face at him. "But I want some!"

He sighed. "You can't eat raw cookie dough. You could get sick. And you'll get your germs all in the batter."

This time, Arya rolled her eyes. "What are you talking about? I don't have germs."

Tommen scoffed "Arya-"

"I don't!"

 

* * *

 

Tommen carefully eased the tray of cookies out of the oven, using oven mitts to gingerly transfer them to a cooling rack. At the fresh-baked cookie smell, Arya ran in with a yelp of excitement, hands already reaching for the sweets.

"Arya, don't-!"

"Ow! My hand!"

With a sigh, he pressed a kiss to the afflicted appendage. "I _tried_ to warn you."


	13. Actual Human Disaster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Or, a peek into Tommen Baratheon's social media.

_**[SENT: <3 QUEEN OF MY HEART]** _

Do you think snails have feelings?

 

**_[RECEIVED: <3 QUEEN OF MY HEART]_**

Tomm, it's three in the morning.

 

**_[SENT: <3 QUEEN OF MY HEART]_ **

But Arya, think about it. Snails get treated like shit all the time. Does it make them sad?

 

**_[RECEIVED: <3 QUEEN OF MY HEART] _**

Can we talk about this when it's not THREE IN THE MORNING?

 

**_[SENT: <3 QUEEN OF MY HEART]_ **

...Okay, byyyyye

 

**_[RECEIVED: <3 QUEEN OF MY HEART]_ **

Quoting Frozen at me isn't going to make me feel bad for you, dork.

 

* * *

 

**@tommycat**

Okay but my cats are the cutest things on earth

_(liked by @needlewielder, @loree_sand, and @goldenrose)_

 

**@j_baratheon**

tfw ur brother is really a girl

 

**@tommycat**

hey _@j_baratheon_ there's this cool thing where you can @ someone so they can see you talking shit

 

**@j_baratheon**

wow some people are just irritating

 

**@tommycat**

can't wait till I graduate and never have to see certain people again

 

**@real_tywinlannister**

_@tommycat_  &  _@j_baratheon_ , quit vagueblogging about each other & do your homework

_(liked by @needlewielder)_

 

**@j_baratheon**

what the actual fuck

 

**@tommycat**

_@real_tywinlannister_ sorry grandpa

 

**@loree_sand**

I want this entire conversation printed on my gravestone

_(liked by @tommycat, @goldenrose, and @needlewielder)_

 

* * *

 


	14. Housewarming

"It's rather _small_ , isn't it?"

The first thing out of his mother's mouth in regards to his and Arya's apartment is a thinly-veiled criticism, and Tommen takes a moment to wonder if he ever truly expected anything different. At this point, he's fairly certain he would die of shock if she ever said anything more enthusiastic than vague politeness in regards to his relationship with Arya. 

"It's not like we really _need_ anything bigger, Mom," he replies patiently, "It's just the two of us here. Well, us and the pets." In fact, Tommen was quite fond of the little apartment they had found. Sure, it didn't consist of much -- A living room with an open connection to the kitchen, a single bedroom and bathroom -- But it was charming and cozy, and he knew that he and Arya could make it a home. "We're in college, we're lucky we found a place that allows pets and doesn't cost a small fortune."

Which, thinking about it, might not be the best rationalization to give Cersei _daughter of one of Westeros's richest men_ Lannister, but he and Arya had decided they wanted to give this independence thing a shot without too much help from their families. It didn't feel right depending on family money for everything when they had opportunities to earn their own keep.

"But Tommen, darling, surely you could do better if you--"

"I'm content with what I have, Mom," Tommen cut her off, "I don't want anything 'better.'"

* * *

 Ser Pounce is curled into a ball on the arm of the couch, Nymeria is laying on his feet, and Arya is lounging in his lap. She is leaning against his chest, though her focus is on the screen of their small TV where aliens are exploding into mounds of goo every time she pushes the controller's "A" button.

"What do you want for supper, babe?" he asks absently, not much focused on anything in particular, "Google says there's a nice pizza place around the block. Or we could be lazy and order some Essosi take-out. We can start a pile of delivery boxes on the counter, like real college students."

"Mmm, supper later," Arya mumbles, not looking away from her game, "Save the galaxy now."

He laughs, kissing the top of her head before relaxing into the couch once again. Ser Pounce mews plaintively, apparently distressed that Arya is getting more of his human's attention, and only settles again once Tommen relents and scratches behind his ears a bit.

"You won't kill me today, aliens of unknown planetary origin!" Arya crows as the game plays yet another 'enemy killed' sound effect, "Not today, fuckers, not today!"


	15. Safety

They both have very different ways of handling stress.

Arya acts out. Smoking, skipping class, staying out too late and driving way too fast. The adrenaline makes her feel better, burns away at the anxiety and fear until all she can feel is the rush, the high of doing something she shouldn't. Arya is the girl who fears no monster, who runs barefoot beside them and dares them to bite her.

And Tommen? Tommen acts in -- Strikingly, frighteningly _in._

Tommen's mother once told him that despite his surname, he was a Lannister. And the first rule of being a Lannister was to never let anyone see that they affected him. _Don't cry_ , she had hissed to him at Granpa Tywin's funeral, _Never let anyone see you cry_. Tommen had been eight, and shortly afterward, his uncle had told him that there were always bad things in life, and that there were many ways to handle those bad things. Some people, Uncle Jaime had said, went away inside. Tommen is one of those. He retreats into the safety of his mind rather than dealing with situations that distressed him. If he just lets his mind take a little vacation of sorts, things don't seem so bad.

They tend to get on each other's nerves at times.

Tommen hates confrontation, would rather withdraw into himself like a turtle than argue. Sometimes he thinks Arya _thrives_ on conflict -- On having something to direct her energy at, whether that is throwing blows at a punching bag in the gym or throwing words she doesn't mean at him.

Tommen doesn't mind. He understands being overwhelmed, and he doesn't blame her for letting off steam. He's glad she feels safe enough with him to let her guard down like that. And he knows that, whatever harsh things she might say when she's wound up, she'll always come back to him when she cools down, all apologies and kisses and that particular softness he sometimes thinks she only shows him.

Sometimes, when everything is too much -- when his brain is too full and the world is too loud -- she will have him lay down with his head in her lap and drape the bottom of his shirt over his head.

"Where are you, Tomm?" she'll prompt. _(He thinks the voice she uses then is like someone who teaches dance to little children -- Come on now, arms nice and round, like you're holding a ball)_

"The Safety Tent," He'll mumble, if he feels up to talking.

"That's right," Arya will say, as though him responding to a simple question pleases her more than anything, "And what goes on in the Safety Tent, clever boy?"

Sometimes he'll muster up enough energy to be playful. "Tummy kisses," he'll answer, because he likes to kiss the soft bit of skin between her bellybutton and the hem of her pants; and it always makes her laugh. 

Arya never gets annoyed or tells him he's wrong, even when he doesn't give the answer he knows she wants. She just pats his head through her shirt and says coaxingly, "What else?"

"Safe space," he'll reply after a moment, always a little hesitant even after all this time, "Nothing bad."

"Right again, see? Do you want to tell me what you're feeling?"

Nine times out of ten, he will. 

They help each other cope, together. That, in Tommen's opinion, is what love is.


	16. The Things I Do For Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The High Sparrow thinks he had the right to throw the queen in a cell for worshipping her father's gods. Tommen disagrees.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, guys, this is a thingy set in an au where everything is the same as the arranged marriage au I've already posted about -- Plus dæmons. 
> 
> For those who aren't familiar with Phillip Pullman's books, dæmons are a physical representation of a person's soul, which takes the form of an animal. Dæmons are usually the opposite gender of their humans, but not always. A dæmon is capable of human speech and thought, and generally acts independently of his or her person, though they are inseparabley linked. Sort of a "one being in two bodies thing" If a person dies, so does their dæmon. If a dæmon itself is killed, their human almost always dies as well.
> 
> I'm thinking of writing more dæmon ficlets like this one, and if I do, I will probably be moving this ficlet and putting it in a series with the others. 
> 
> See the end notes for the dæmons mentioned in this piece.

The High Septon is crouched in the corner of his cell when Tommen walks in. The man springs to his feet at the sound of the door opening. His dæmon, a simple brown sparrow, is perched on his shoulder, almost tucked into the crook of his neck.

The same place Arya lays her head when he holds her. The thought angers him. He doesn't want anything about this man reminding him in any way of his wife. At his heels, Aurelia hisses softly.

"Your Majesty," the High Septon says, and his voice is thin and anxious. Tommen feels a tingle of satisfaction at that, knowing that this self-righteous old windbag has felt the same discomfort and fear he put Arya through.

"You know," Tommen begins comversationally, Aurelia settling herself primly at his feet, "You should really consider yourself lucky. If my brother was still alive and you'd thrown _his_ wife in a cell, you'd be in for a miserable time. He'd torture you, probably for hours, before he let you die."

He takes a sort of vicious delight in the way the former septon pales at that, the way his dæmon's feathers ruffle in alarm.

"But..." the man breathes, "But you are not your brother. You are a good and just ruler."

It seems a few days in the black cells has taught him some proper respect for the monarchy. Tommen allows himself to smile, and sees the disgraced holy man relax.

"No, Septon, I am not my brother."

He breathes a sigh of relief. "You are merciful, Majesty. I knew you wouldn't truly harm a man of the gods."

Aurelia makes a show of delicately licking her paw as Tommen remains silent.

"Now when," she says in her velvety voice, when the silence has streched long enough to make the prisoner uncomfortable, "Did we say we wouldn't harm you?"

The old man blanches, and his sparrow flutters in shock. "But you -- you said you weren't your brother--"

"Indeed," Tommen replies amiably, still smiling, "I did say that. And I'm an honest man. I won't torture you for hours."

Aurelia moves too fast for the septon and dæmon to react. In the timespan of a blink, she has the sparrow pinned to the stone floor.

The septon gasps and staggers, but doesn't dare to intervene, not when Tommen is the king and his dæmon is at the mercy of Aurelia's claws and teeth.

"Please--"

Aurelia's fangs descend around the sparrow's delicate neck, and she vanishes in a poof of Dust.

Smile still in place, Tommen turns to look at the former High Septon, the dead man who has yet to realize he's dead.

"Jana" he whispers, and falls.

Aurelia shakes the fine gold Dust that was once a man's soul off of her fur. Tommen hears her humming as they go back to their chambers, where Arya and Nymerius are waiting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tommen: Aurelia, female, Eurasian lynx
> 
> High Septon: Jana, female, house sparrow
> 
> Arya: Nymerius, male, direwolf


	17. Life Together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for character death. Not graphic or anything, but it’s there.

He’s seven, and his father has just announced his betrothal to Lord Stark’s younger daughter. As the people present applaud the king’s decision, Tommen and Lady Arya are prodded by their mothers into doing a dance together. It’s an awkward, shuffling dance, and Lady Arya steps on his feet with too much force to be accidental. When the song ends, he does as he’s been taught a gentleman should do and kisses her hand.

His new betrothed makes a face and yanks her hand away with a soft noise of disgust.

 

He’s two-and-ten and Arya Stark is his very best friend. They spend their days running wild through the corridors of the Red Keep, usually chased by Tommen’s exasperated septa. They play together and whisper secrets and are each other’s fiercest defender against the tyranny of Joffrey. They are together nearly every moment, and when Arya writes letters to her parents back in Winterfell, there is always the same postscript – _Tommen says hello._

One day he finds her sitting in the highest room of the tallest tower, staring morosely out towards the kingsroad. “I miss home,” she says miserably when he asks, and he is suddenly struck by the fact that she has been kept away from her home and family because of him, because of the betrothal that ties her to him.

He sits down beside her and takes her hand in his. Clumsy with hesitance but wanting her to know how he cares, he leans over and plants a shy kiss on her cheek. Arya says nothing, but rests her head upon his shoulder

 

He’s five-and-ten, and they are kissing in a shadowed alcove off the corridor leading to the Great Hall. Arya’s fingers are tangled in his curls and her mouth tastes of honeyed bread and watered-down ale. With Nymeria standing guard nearby, they hold each other close and whisper of what their lives will be like when they are finally allowed to marry.

They become adept at sneaking, and spend many afternoons in the gardens, evading their chaperones for another stolen moment alone. He makes a crown of wildflowers and crowns her queen of his heart, and Arya just laughs and laughs.

 

He’s seven-and-ten and his brother is dead. Joffrey perished at his wedding feast, and Tommen is under pressure to uphold the newly-forged alliance with House Tyrell by marrying his brother’s maiden widow. But while Lady Margaery is amiable enough, soft and sweet and kind, his heart already belongs to another, and he cannot forsake that for politics’ sake.

They sneak away to the godswood in the middle of the night and marry themselves with hushed voices and reverent touches. He kisses her under the eyes of the heart tree, holds her tight against him as his favorite cloak rests around her shoulders. By the time people learn of it, the next morning, the deed is done and there is no going back.

 

He’s one-and-twenty, and his beloved Arya holds their newborn daughter in her arms as he presses a kiss to her forehead. In his lap, their toddler son leans forward to get a better look at his sister, and gasps in delight as her newborn-colorless eyes blink slowly open and glance his way.

Little Eddard turns to him and proclaims seriously, “Papa, my sister looks like a potato.”

It takes him almost four minutes to stop laughing.

 

He’s two-and-sixty, and he abdicates the throne in favor of his son. Better that Edd learn to rule now, with his parents able to guide and aid him, than be thrust as abruptly into the role as Tommen himself was.

He stands by the foot of the throne and watches as his heir is crowned, adds his voice to those of the cheering crowd. He feels Arya move at his side, and turns to look at her. She smiles, lifting his hand and kissing the back of it. just as he had done to her all those years ago at Winterfell.

“We did good, didn’t we?” he asks, some distant part of him wondering how it was they had come so far in what seemed so little time.

“We did good, my darling,” Arya assures him, and Tommen is content.

 

He’s seven-and-sixty and his wife won’t wake. He shakes her, gently at first, and then harder when she still doesn’t rouse. He teases, coaxes, and when that is useless, turns to pleading. His increasing desperation alerts the guards, who pull him gently away even as he curses them and calls for Arya. Eventually, the truth sinks in and he screams himself hoarse with the agony of it.

Eddard comes to him, sits and holds his hand. And Myrielle, their beautiful daughter who is so much like her mother, weeps against his shoulder.

 

He is eight-and-sixty, and his gooddaughter greets him with an exhausted smile. She sits on the corner of his sickbed and proudly presents him with his firstborn grandchild.

“We’d like to call her Arya,” Edd says softly, “After Mother,” and Tommen feels tears prickling at the back of his eyes.

“We’re passing each other, you and I,” he whispers to the newborn, “You’ve just come into the world and I’m just leaving. But I’m very pleased I could meet you, little Arya. Very pleased…”

The babe blinks up and him and he smiles before his eyes slip shut.


End file.
